


Floored

by sunsetmog



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-22
Updated: 2004-04-22
Packaged: 2017-10-30 20:50:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmog/pseuds/sunsetmog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Billy had always maintained he would never, ever, ever have sex in a toilet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Floored

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://sunsetmog-fics.livejournal.com/8235.html) in April 2004.

**Floored**

Billy had always maintained he would never, ever, _ever_ have sex in a toilet. _**Especially**_ (and in his head, that bit was always underlined, in bold text and italicised, even when he was too drunk to remember his own name and he was reduced to making guttural noises as a replacement for the English language) a public toilet. They were dirty, disgusting places (because Billy had grown up in Glasgow, where pissing near the bowl was the sign of not having drunk enough, and therefore, endemically, a sign of weakness), and Billy couldn't help but think of the _germs_. Not in the same way that Astin would think about the germs (following behind with a wet wipe and ushering him towards the sink, and _Here, have some soap_ ) but more in a 'fucking hell, there's a whole new breed of civilisation down here' kind of way.

But, fuck, he was drunk and his thought processes weren't making sense and he was using the wrong words. He was _thinking_ the wrong words. He wasn't talking, oh no, not him, because he currently had his nose in Dom's crotch, and yes, he was on his knees in a public toilet, and (shite, fuck, damn, look at that) his knees were wet but it didn't really matter, even though they were actually cold against the tiles, because Dom had just undone his jeans. Just undone his jeans, button by button, and raised an eyebrow, his fingers curling in Billy's hair, shoving Billy's face into a hard, erect, very-much-ready-for-him-thank-you-very-much cock. Billy didn't open his mouth in time, and he ended up getting a nose full of damp penis, and fuck, weren't blowjobs supposed to be easier than this? And, shitting hell, the taste. Like salt and chemicals and bad food and everything nasty he could imagine. Like every oxymoron he could ever have postulated. Like hot winters, and dry water slides, or rather, wet normal slides, because you just couldn't slide down a helter-skelter if it was raining, you just ended up with a wet arse and wedged half way up a kids slide in a playground you probably shouldn't even be in. But Dom was wet, like a wet slide in April, and Billy was stuck half way down. He couldn't just back off and climb back up, because that would take time and energy and would involve admitting that he had wanted to break into the playground and use the slide, and everyone knew you looked like a fucking dick trying to get _up_ up a slide. So the best thing was just to edge your way down the slide and pretend you always wanted to make a complete twat of yourself and look like a tit with a wet arse. 

But Billy was having trouble breathing because there was a cock rammed against the back of his throat, and normally something rammed against the back of his throat meant he was going to be sick. And, believe it or not, the last thing he wanted to do was vomit. He didn't think he could recover from that. Fucking hell, wasn't he supposed to be doing something? Not just kneeling here holding Dom's dick in his mouth like a cold ice lolly—but again that was wrong, and Billy knew it was wrong because the very last thing that Dom could be described as right now was cold. Hot like an iron hot—so that his touch burnt and Billy could feel himself shrivelling inside as the burn spread. 

So, Billy was on his knees in a public toilet after swearing a million times that he'd never be so fucking disgusting and so fucking cheap as to get a blow job in a loo. Funny that he'd never considered himself the one to be the one on the floor before. Just goes to show that you never really know yourself, and fucking hell, he didn't fucking know Dominic either. And he wanted to fucking know how he got here and why he was swearing so much and why he wasn't at home tucked up in bed. And why he was beginning to be of the impression that penises (penii? The Penis? Billy decided to give up thinking, it was probably best for mankind) are really very, very interesting things indeed, and they are well worth a bit of exploration. Especially with, say, your tongue. But not with teeth, because teeth result in Dom practically ripping the hair out of your head. And yes, Billy was balding (he was fucking old, come to mention it, and wasn't this the kind of thing you were supposed to stop doing once you hit thirty, and he was well past that, and, well, shut up and concentrate, because Billy needed to keep whatever hair he had left and couldn't afford to lose any more because of an ill-timed meeting of teeth and veiny flesh).

Concentrate, dammit, and stop trying to figure out what Dom smells like. Sweat. That sex smell that is always such a fucking giveaway if you're trying to hide the fact you've just had a shag in the living room when your friends turn up unannounced. The slight smell of piss, which is enough to make Billy gag again because, frankly, it's fucking disgusting and who invented such a thing, and what sort of God decided that _this_ was the best way to procreate? Of course, procreation was not something that Billy was intending to concentrate on now he'd discovered the power of the penis, but, still, this wasn't something entirely alien to the heterosexual couple, so what the fuck was the Man thinking of? But there's another smell, one which appears to be comforting... fucking Johnson's Baby Powder. The fucker puts talcum powder down his pants? Billy can't help but laugh, and considering that Dom has just shuddered into his mouth, laughing whilst sucking someone off must be a good thing. Billy doesn't remember ever having made anyone laugh whilst they had their mouth on his cock, so Billy considers this blow job (although drunken, unplanned and thoroughly disgusting, setting-wise) to be one-up on anything that's come before. 

And the taste gets better after a while. Once you get used to the aroma filling your nostrils and the fact that your nose is sporadically deep in curly, dark hair, the whole sensation stops being a series of laughable, sarcastic drips of time and starts to become a realisation of power. Billy realises proudly, that he is indeed, the one with the upper hand, despite, of course, the fact that Billy is knee deep in piss and flush. And just to prove that, he breathes out, breath hot against Dom, and Dom's fingers clench in his hair once more. Billy smiles. Or as much as he can do when he's having Dom jerk into his mouth, repeatedly hitting the back of Billy's throat and Billy finally realising that replacing the gag mechanism with the swallow mechanism would be a step in the right direction. 

Billy thinks he might be quite good at this, really, because Dom's jerking has lost its steady rhythm and has, instead, become sporadic and heated, and Billy finds the fingers in his hair tighten and pull, and from somewhere up above him he hears the primeval call of 'fuck... fuck... fucking fucking fuck... shit.' and, well, then Billy is undergoing a whole new sensation, and it isn't one he particularly likes, because if he thought the taste of damp, hard, sweaty cock was bad, then he was suitably unprepared for the taste of come. Even more unprepared for the pressure of the spurts against the back of his throat, spooling up around Dom's cock until Billy couldn't take it anymore, and he pulls away, pushing past Dom in an effort to get to the toilet bowl and fucking get rid of the taste. 

And now it's his turn to say 'fuck', and sit back on his haunches and look back at Dom, leaning against the toilet wall with his (now limp, still kind of impressive) cock hanging out of unbuttoned jeans, escaping over the top of black boxers. Thought it might be time to meet Dom's eyes and hope he won't blush. But Dom's not looking at him, just resting his head back on the wall with his eyes closed, holding out a wad of rough toilet roll in Billy's general direction. Billy wipes his mouth, and his chin (and his shoulder, because Dom hadn't quite finished when Billy had moved in the general direction of the toilet), and then spits again into the loo, chucking the paper in after. 

Dom's fiddling with his crotch, sticking himself back inside his boxers and pulling the buttons together. 

Billy's cold against the floor, and wet, and thoroughly disgusted with himself. A fucking toilet cubicle. Fucking revolting. 

"You alright?" Dom asks, quietly. 

Billy looks at him. Waits a moment for his vision to catch up his gaze. "Dunno." He says, and his voice sounds odd. His throat hurts. Unsurprisingly.

"D'ya wanna head back out?" Dom's fingers graze the bolt. 

"In a minute." 

"I'll get you a pint in." Dom doesn't look back, and the door doesn't even slam behind him. Billy nudges it closed with his foot.

And Billy's left on the floor, wondering what the fuck just happened. Hard. And in desperate need of a drink. Two drinks. A fucking jug full. And then some whisky. And then, Billy told himself, he wants to wake up. Please.


End file.
